18 June 2008

Leigh Pierce

leigh pierce
mortality and moral malnutrition

Walking like a
zombie towards
the checkout

Cart full of baby
food , diapers,
tampons, chocolate
and all the other
things that will make
aunt flow shut the
fuck up

From a distance I
hear a lovely chant

“I can help you over here sir”

Sir? Fuck I’m old

I slouch on the cart
and push with my
elbows to get to where
a blond with a way
too tight t-shirt is waiting
to check me out, and the
groceries too

My hard cock smacks a
tower of cheap sunglasses,


I grab a pair and stare
directly into those
creamy c-cups

Just above them is
face it no pores

She gives me that
guilty look when
she sees the items
in my cart

I walk away without saying goodbye or
paying for my new sunglasses


Overly tanned mounds or under cooked broken eggs
They all look the same
Round or pointy, full or flat
They are what true love is made of
Fake or real, perky or drooping
Tits are tits, and they are proof that God is a man
And men love tits
Rubbing our greasy hands over them
Tweaking the nipples on a perfect pair of small ones
Sticking our face between a set of surgically enhanced ones
We don’t need oxygen or water to live
Just tits
We don’t need the Peace Corp or the U.N. to bring peace
Just tits
Bring the Middle East a piece, not peace
Slam some tits in the face of the world
And all will be well again

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